Pride of the Monster
by Zeff N Company
Summary: FtSKM: Feudal Japan AU In a time of desperation, a samurai tries to hire the Golden Wolf to protect his young lord, but the Wolf has a few conditions of his own.


_Originally written for the Strifehart Kink Meme._

_Prompt: Loyal samurai Leon tries to acquire the services of the ronin Cloud for his lord, but Cloud has a few conditions of his own._

_A/N: Please read the whole thing through before passing any judgment. I'll explain myself in the footnotes.  
_

* * *

The man he was seeking was not hard to find. A few questions and looking around enough was more than sufficient to get his specific location. It was not so much his reputation though, but his curious appearance.

Sure enough, the man he sought was just sitting there on a bench outside a tea house by the dirt road, sipping his tea and looking awfully disgruntled about it. Despite the seemingly gentle manner of handling the beverage, he sat like a gangster with a dirty sandaled foot up on the bench with him, one arm slightly behind and always clutching the long hilt of a large, menacing zanbatō.

He appeared to be in his early twenties, with a solid chest that was not overly broad. His arms were deceitfully slender, but at a closer glance one could see the hard muscles that lined them, promising efficient, quick and painful power in any strike. Despite his built, he had a cherubic face complimented by a head full of blond spikes that shone gold in the sunlight. Sky blue eyes peeked from between those yellow bangs, flicking in his direction as he approached.

Finding this man was the easy part of his mission. Actually talking to him was going to be a lot more difficult, and the vassal was not about to fool himself into the hope of actually winning the man over without a decent struggle. Regardless, his steps led him straight to the bench, to stand before the man and his cup of tea.

"What do you want?" the man growled more than he spoke.

"You are the Golden Wolf." It was not a question, but a casual statement of facts.

The man – the Wolf – snorted, and he finished his tea in one gulp before he retorted, "Thanks… no, wait. I already knew that. Try telling me something else."

"I am in need of your services."

"Everyone is, these days," the Wolf countered tersely. The cup was tossed carelessly over his shoulder, sending the waiter into a panicked fumble after it. "This had better be worth my time, _samurai_."

"I represent my lord and his house," said samurai explained as vaguely as he could, "and in his name I wish to hire you as a bodyguard."

"What, for you?"

"For his heir."

Blond brows narrowed ever so slightly, and the man squinted up at him. "… And who is your lord?"

"I cannot tell you that," the vassal responded in turn, "unless I know for certain that you will not betray him."

"You're trying not to tell me this is some emergency," the Wolf drawled, "but already you're giving it away too easily. You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I admit to nothing," the vassal replied calmly, maintaining a poker face before this dangerous opponent, "except that my lord will pay you handsomely for the job."

"How much?" The question held no delay whatsoever, as expected.

"Whatever you name."

"… You _are_ desperate…" the Wolf trailed off, his mood somber. "… This wouldn't have anything to do with that bloodbath up south, would it?" He was smirking at the slightest flinch. "The peasants wouldn't quit talking about it while passing through. Nasty business, I hear."

"What happened is none of your business," the vassal growled back, a crack forming in his composure. "I am asking you again: will you accept the job?"

"I would be a fool not to," the Wolf replied smoothly. "But it will cost you."

"I already told you-"

"While I like the money, that's only going to motivate my body," the Wolf interrupted. "I need something to motivate _this_-" And with that, he tapped twice at his temple, "-If you know what I mean."

The samurai paused, realizing how very trapped he was. This hunter knew he was at a disadvantage and was milking it for all its worth, and _he_ knew he had no choice but to stand here and take it.

"… Name your terms," he finally uttered, causing the smug smirk to grow wider still.

"I have three conditions," and three fingers were raised in the air. "Fulfill all of them, and you've got yourself a deal. Of course, I still expect my pay."

The vassal huffed irritably. "And what are your conditions?"

"My first condition is this: I will ask you three simple questions, and you are to answer me truthfully," the hand came down, "we'll start with that one, and you can hear the other two later."

"Not here," the vassal insisted, eyeing the waiter that was skulking a little too close for comfort. "Let us go somewhere more private."

"Sure. Lead the way, Sammy."

The vassal cringed at the newly given nickname, wanting no more than to raise his blade and skewer the arrogant blond before he could blink. Instead, still maintaining his civility, he waved the Golden Wolf after him. There was a pause as the huge blade was brought up and swung behind the hunter's back, but they were soon moving along. And no sooner were they out of earshot when the first question was fired:

"Was your lord assassinated?" Before the vassal could protest, the Wolf reminded quickly, "Answer me truthfully."

"… yes," he growled begrudgingly.

"That answers a lot," the Wolf commented thoughtfully. Then, "Why do you think I'd be of any help against these assassins of yours?"

"The one who murdered my master wields the nodachi Masamune," the vassal answered more easily this time. "I understand you know him."

As he had thought, the hunter with the golden hair fell silent, his once sly visage replaced by something more somber, more deadly, more befitting of a hunter. Or the wild canine whose title he claimed.

"I know him, alright," the Wolf admitted in a low, dangerous tone. Then he slipped back to his previous façade. "You almost had me there with that one."

"It's true," the vassal snapped, no longer caring for formality.

"I didn't say it wasn't," was the soft reply. It was almost empathetic, the way the blond said it. With no desire to think about it further, he led them to an old wooden shack.

"You have one more question," he reminded.

"That I do," the Wolf agreed, "So I'll ask: why not have me hunt your killer instead of babysit?"

"Because," the vassal stated seriously, a hand on the door's latch, "the survival of my lord's heir means everything."

The door swung open, revealing a lone occupant curled up in a bundle of old sackcloth. The previously sleeping form stirred at the added noise, drowsily shifting to reveal it – no, himself – as a tiny boy with large green eyes and fuzzy blond hair, though his was more of a sandy color, instead of golden like the hunter's.

The Wolf froze, staring in disbelief at the boy who stared blearily back. The hand on his zanbatō squeezed so tight it had to be painful, and the color was darkening on his face as those already brittle blues grew so very cold.

"That's…"

"My young master," he repeated, "and the one destined to be my new lord."

Sensing the tension in the air, the child decided he did not like it and whined in protest. Almost at once, the vassal was at his prince's side, allowing tiny fists to clutch at his hand while he assured the frightened boy of his safety. Behind them, the hunter regained his composure.

"So you actually serve the foreign devils instead of a true samurai clan," the man uttered darkly. "You're lower than I thought."

"Your first condition has been fulfilled," the vassal reminded coldly. "State your next."

"… Very well."

The child cried out in alarm as the giant blade moved into a more threatening position. Immediately his protector placed himself between weapon and boy, eyes narrowed in a predatory glare of his own.

"… My second condition," the Wolf stated. "Show me just how loyal and determined you are."

The samurai stared long and hard at the blade, weighing his options. Finally he straightened, still keeping the heir behind him.

"Outside," he stated. "You will not harm my charge even by accident."

The Wolf snorted. "Of course. Whatever you want, noble one."

Then the blond man turned and practically stomped out of the shack, his discovery the cause of the foul mood he presented. The vassal got ready to follow, but the small hand grabbing his sleeve held him back.

"Let go," he requested firmly. Then, in a softer tone of reassurance, "I will return shortly."

Only then, still reluctant, did the boy let go and let him leave. With a final comforting pat to the head of soft hair, the vassal left the shack. He only glanced back once to keep the child from following him, before he rejoined the waiting hunter.

"Let's settle this, then."

"Now we're talking…"

The giant blade seemed to fly from the man's back, swinging down at his head. The vassal jumped out of the way, already drawing a slim black katana from its scabbard at his side. Before the blade could rise again, he cleared its great length, aiming his own weapon at an unguarded throat. At the last second, the Golden Wolf twisted out of the way, his arms jerking upward to bring the zanbatō with him in a deadly arc. Forced to change his strike, the vassal flipped over the man's head, repositioning himself defensively as the Wolf turned as well.

"Not bad," the Wolf growled, a feral grin playing on his features. "But I want to see more."

"Come then," the vassal stated solemnly, not breaking his own façade as his weapon readied. "I will show you."

The challenge was accepted with mad glee. Chiming was echoing through the air along with more shudders of impact against earth, against bark, against the air itself. Neither man was gaining any ground, both so evenly matched.

"Do you enjoy it?" the Wolf suddenly demanded. "Serving the very same devil that corrupted your blood?"

"The way you call them like that," the vassal retorted mid-dodge, "did they offend you?"

"They offend everyone," was the growled reply. "That's good enough for me."

"And what of us?" came the counter. "Us, who were born with these so-called devils as our fathers. What does that make us?"

They were interrupted by the need to clash, and then separate again. The vassal leapt backward, his blade trembling forcefully from the collision but not breaking. Not yet. A distance away – just barely further than necessary for the zanbatō to connect – the Golden Wolf was leering.

"Isn't it obvious?" he spat, his tone angry despite the curve of lips. "We're monsters."

A step forward, and the blade swung again with ferocity, forcing the vassal to hop clear as an old, crooked tree was sacrificed in his place. Landing on the fallen trunk, he held his katana at the ready, its tip pointing straight for the Wolf's heart.

"… Heh…" the Wolf uttered, a small grin appearing on his face. "Almost forgot to ask: what shall I call you, samurai?"

"You already had your three questions," the samurai answered. "I'm not obligated to tell you anything."

"Oh, but you are," the Wolf countered. "It's impolite to fight without trading our names, is it not? To be fair, I'll start us off," and he straightened a little. "… I'm Atsureki."

The vassal stood tall, unashamed before the other as he introduced himself. "I am Arashi."

"Does the honorable samurai not have a family name?" the Wolf taunted.

"Should a monster have need of one?" the vassal countered.

There was a pause, and then the Wolf Atsureki seemed to bark with laughter. "Well said, samurai," he growled. "I am Strife, and you are Storm. How befitting of this moment."

"Enough," the vassal Arashi declared. "We finish this now."

"Indeed, we should…" the blade moved again, "So show me exactly how determined you are to finish it!"

The vassal stood still, as the zanbatō came at him once again. Then, quite suddenly, he maneuvered barely out of the way, raising his katana to aim for the Wolf's head.

There was a distinct, sharp crack like thunder, and the Wolf froze as he felt a sharp wind cut by his cheek. His sword stopped as well, dropping a little as he finally registered the blood that leaked down the side of his face.

Before him, the vassal did not lower the katana. Smoke drifted from a long black tube just above the blade, no longer inconspicuous as before.

A hidden rifle.

"I will not miss a second time," the vassal informed, indicating the thin slice over skin his bullet had made in passing.

"… You had that all along," the Wolf growled. "Why not use it sooner?"

"I will not use it for myself," the vassal replied. "But I will never hesitate to use it for the sake of my lord. If resorting to this is what takes you to accept my request, so be it."

Atsureki was still staring, but there was a change in his expression, a different sort of gleam in his eyes. The blade dropped even further, no longer in an attacking stance, and he crossed the distance between them. Arashi never lowered his katana – or the rifle that was attached to it – as he waited, tense for any hidden agenda.

The blond hunter stopped just short of the blade, its lethal tip pointed at his heart. He reached up to touch the smoking barrel, his gloves hissing in contact with hot metal. Throughout, his eyes never left those of the vassal's.

"… Is this it, then?" he asked quietly. "Is this your proof?"

The latter did not give a verbal answer. His eyes did all the work for him. Looking into those determined pale orbs – the color that had to have come from his unknown father – the Wolf finally relented with a deep sigh.

The hand pushed down, and the katana lowered with the request.

"… My last condition."

Sky blue met with stormy blue, both as brittle and as determined for their own motives.

"… Don't let yourself die," the Wolf stated, any hint of amusement gone from his voice. "I refuse to look after your devil brat for you, so you're not allowed to die. Fail this condition, and the deal's off."

The katana dropped fully, slack in a relaxed grip at the samurai's side. Then it was lifted, this time to return to its scabbard. Formally, the vassal bowed.

"I understand," he said. "Thank you, Atsureki."

The Golden Wolf huffed, waving a hand dismissively as the zanbatō returned to a slack position at his back.

"That's my name, Arashi – don't wear it out. But seriously, just go get the kid so we can leave. I'm thirsty."

_

* * *

_

_Yes, how dare me, I actually did it. I used what poor amateurish knowledge of Samurai-themed animation and movie, pulled out an online English to Romaji dictionary and renamed Cloud and Squall/Leon to fit their Feudal Japan environment (If you didn't catch the reference, Atsureki/Strife is Cloud, and Arashi/Storm is Squall/Leon). I would have renamed Sephiroth as well, if only I knew what to translate his name to._

_If I haven't driven you away and you'd like to see more of this one, prompt me for it so I have something to work with.  
_

_As usual, shameless advertisement: If you'd like to prompt me to write something Cleon/Strifehart for you, drop by the Strifehart Kink Meme (http: //community. livejournal. com/ cleonrp/ 2723. html__). The ones I like better will end up back here for your reading pleasure._


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